Edgar Aeternum, Book 1: Tales of Aeternal Love (16 page)

The half hour passed quickly, but Edgar was
covered in a sheen of sweat by the time he reached the Highland
House. Soon, he was lathered up enjoying the pulsing beat of the
hot water in the shower. He lingered, letting the jets hit him from
multiple angles, easing his muscles from the exertion of his run
and the night before. Even for one so fit and healthy, Sterling had
given Edgar the ride of his life last night, putting the hungry
stud through his paces. He'd been keeping track of the number of
positions in which Sterling had fucked him, but lost track in the
haze of passion at number seven.

The man had either recently watched some
exotic porn or had an even more creative imagination than Edgar
previously thought. Some of the positions tested muscles that even
Edgar didn't know he had and one in particular felt like something
the old Cirque du Soleil troupe would've done back in the day.
Either way, Edgar was still feeling the effects and the hot shower
was just what the doctor ordered.

He emerged into clouds of steam; the bathroom
looking like a sauna. "Clear the steam," he ordered the HC. Seconds
later, courtesy of the computer's environmental system, the room
was as clear as the sky outside. Edgar dried off using one of the
plush towels he loved and ran a comb through his hair. Looking in
the mirror, he was once again grateful that he'd shaved the morning
that whatever caused his immortality had kicked in; none of his
hair, facial or otherwise, grew even a fraction of an inch after
that day. It'd been over 400 years since his last shave or
haircut.

Once dry, he took the towels to the laundry
center, grabbed a tall glass of water and sat at his desk to make a
list for the grocery store. He knew Maddi liked meat and not just
because he'd spent a lot of time focused on Edgar's at the party.
Wiz usually put out hors d'oeuvres at his parties and he's seen
Maddi enjoying a slice of meat roll, a deceptive looking tidbit
that resembled a cinnamon-swirled pastry. The swirl was actually a
thin slice of beef so tender it practically melted in your mouth.
The young man had put away half a dozen of them.

I may not be a chef, like his roommates, but
I do know my way around a kitchen. Hmmm... Roasted lamb chops, baby
red potatoes, fresh asparagus... sounds like a good main course.
Crusty French bread and herbed olive oil for the appetizer, check.
Vanilla bean mouse topped with fresh raspberries for dessert,
perfect! More eggs and some sausage for breakfast, just in
case.

Well, time to tackle that mess in the
kitchen. You'd think I had to hand wash dishes the way I
procrastinate over it. All I have to do is toss 'em in the 'washer;
the HC does the rest. I just hate clean-up, though. Ah well, no use
pissing and moaning about it. There's nothing for it but to get my
ass in there and do it.

Edgar sent the grocery list to his earbuddy.
The ever-helpful device would connect to the store's computer, get
the lay of the land and the soft voice would direct Edgar to the
location of each of the items on his list. It was much simpler than
the old pen and paper or even smartphone days. He got up and
slow-walked to the kitchen, procrastinating to the last. Twenty
minutes later, the dishwasher was loaded, the countertops were
spotless and Edgar surveyed the kitchen with satisfaction.

He went to the walk-in to pick out clothes
for the day's errand. Settling on a tight pair of faded jeans, a
sky-blue t-shirt and a pair of matching sneakers, he popped the
earbuddy into this left ear. The galvanic skin response caused by
the contact activated the 'bud and it sounded a soft beep to
confirm. Edgar grabbed his wallet and headed out.

Dalio's, the local market, was only a few
blocks from the Highland House and Edgar was enjoying the walk. At
mid-day, there was a fair amount of foot traffic but nothing like
rush hour. Ever the people watcher, he enjoyed the scenery along
the way. Most of the people he saw were fairly standard for the
time; casual dress, similar to his own, unless they wore suits for
the office. As usual, he was one of the tallest in the crowd which
gave him many opportunities to acknowledge the fact that others
were watching him as he watched them.

Most looks were of the appreciative type,
though there were a few that Edgar dubbed sideshow stares as they
made him feel like one of the workers at old circus freak shows.
Those he shrugged off, offering a smile to the people rude enough
to exhibit such behavior. Fortunately, it wasn't the norm. Nor was
he overly obvious in his own people watching; he simply enjoyed the
view.

The scenery up ahead was particularly
interesting; a small procession of ten young people in flowing
white robes was working its way, single file, through the afternoon
crowd. Their faces were serene to the point of otherworldliness;
Edgar knew that beneath the cowls that covered their heads they
were bald. These were the Children of Logos, a pseudo-spiritual
group devoted to pure logic. Edgar chuckled as he remembered first
hearing about them.

I never expected that such a group would
exist. Talk about life imitating art; the CoL have practically
recreated Rodenberry's Vulcan society. At first, I thought they
were some crazy cult, but then I went to one of their debates. It
was amazing; a series of short arguments on particular issues, but
with no emotion whatsoever. They wielded logic like a surgeon
wields a micro-scalpel.

The purpose of the debates is twofold: The
CoL believes that the best means of reaching decisions on crucial
issues is to strip away the emotions such issues typically
generate. The other is to give society an opportunity to see how a
life of logic can benefit people. It's about the closest to a
revival meeting you'll ever find on Earth, though there's no active
recruiting happening. Hmmm... I should probably check out their
take on the Ch'oran crisis; at the very least, it'll be
interesting.

The most interesting thing about the CoL is
the fact that their techniques for controlling emotion actually
work. I wouldn't have thought it possible without major chemical
intervention, but their meditations actually suppress their
emotions. I'd expect some sort of psychological issues to present
themselves since we are, by nature, emotional beings; but no, the
CoL has been at it for eighty-four years and so far, there haven't
been reports of any problems.

As the procession drew near, the leader
glanced at Edgar, utter peace on her face. She nodded at him,
acknowledging his glance. He nodded in return, face blank. Without
missing a pace, she touched her forehead with the first two fingers
of her left hand; it was the traditional sign of greeting, parting,
and general acknowledgment among the Children of Logos and, in
public, with non-members, it was reserved for those who showed they
understood and respected the individual's chosen path. Receiving
the sign was an honor to those who understood its meaning. As a
further show of his respect, Edgar returned the sign; instead of
touching his forehead briefly as she had, he kept his fingers in
place, thus honoring each of the CoL in the procession. They all
returned the gesture. After the last one passed, Edgar lowered his
hand.

Despite his profound respect for their path,
in some ways Edgar couldn't fathom it. He could see the benefit of
controlling one's emotions; after almost five centuries of life, it
was a matter of do so or go insane. However, the Children of Logos
worked to eliminate emotion, something to which he couldn't relate
no matter how hard he tried. He often wondered what they'd do if
someone ever showed them an old Star Trek episode. Would seeing
their way of life portrayed as part of an entertainment franchise
provide some type of motivation for them or would it cause the
downfall of their belief system, similar to the way the
post-earthquake twenty-second century discovery of the secret vault
beneath the Vatican - and what it contained - ultimately brought
down Christianity? There was only one way to know and Edgar didn't
see any benefit from the experiment, so he left it well enough
alone.

Passing one of his favorite stores brought
him out of that train of thought. Unlike the pre-legalization days,
when people either bought from dealers on the sly or got approval
for medicinal use, marijuana was now sold in specialty shops.
Paradiso was Edgar's shop of choice. It was staffed by some of the
nicest, and most knowledgeable, puffers in the trade as far as he
was concerned. It didn't hurt that they were easy on the eyes. More
than once, Edgar went in for his weed supply and ended up going
next-door to Sexos, an upscale shop specializing in all things sex.
Their supply of toys and other pleasure products was as extensive
as Paradiso's inventory of marijuana.

He paused briefly, considering going in to
one or both shops, but he was already well-stocked in each area so
he continued walking. As he passed Sexos, a trio of young Plezzers
was exiting the shop. Despite his own firm commitment to hedonism,
not even Edgar could out-do the Plezzers. They were a culture unto
their own, devoted entirely to pleasure, no matter the source. They
didn't confine themselves to Synthesis, but explored all pleasures
in the flesh, too. Whether the adrenaline rush of speed, the
mind-expansion of designer drugs, or every type of sex conceivable
and a few that boggled Edgar's mind, Plezzers were into it.

In some respects, they were enviable. They
were completely free of all responsibility; if they needed credits,
they rented themselves out to whoever would pay, as long as the
purchased service was pleasurable. In most cases, that meant
prostitution, but it also included fighting; some Plezzers found it
exhilarating to beat the living daylights out of another. Some
found it pleasurable to have the living daylights beaten out of
them. Either way, everybody won. Once they had enough credits, they
called it quits and promptly spent their earnings.

They shared other commonalities, too. They
always looked happy; Edgar only ever saw Plezzers who were smiling
or laughing. They also appeared quite healthy, despite some of
their more dangerous pursuits; the average Plezzer had a ruddy
complexion, cheeks flushed as though with exertion. Most Plezzers
had long, asymmetrically-cut hair, all bizarre angles and often
sporting small beads in some areas. Edgar once discovered the
purpose of the beads during a particularly aerobic session with a
Plezzer he met at Maxi's. While he wasn’t sure he wanted to
replicate their use, it was a night he'd never forgotten.

The trio was obviously planning a party of
some sort; they exited the shop, each carrying an extra-large
shopping bag in each hand. Edgar smiled and shook his head; Sexos
was not inexpensive. However, given that the average plezzer had no
limits, he was certain they had more than enough credits to fill
those bags twice over. As usual, the Plezzers were laughing and
looked as though they hadn't a care in the world. He gave them an
unobtrusive once-over and found them quite attractive.

The one in the middle, a brunette in a
skin-tight blue-and-white striped tee, seemed to be finishing the
punch line to a joke. Edgar caught his slightly gravelly voice as
he said, "…if yours don't bend that way, mine do!" At which point,
he and his companions burst out in howls of unselfconscious
laughter.

The Plezzer to the left of center slapped his
companion on the ass, letting his hand linger for a moment. "I wish
mine bent that way!" he said, smiling. This set Center-boy off and
he dropped his bags, broke ranks, grabbed two handfuls of Lefty's
black tee and pushed him hard against the nearest wall. He dove
forward, kissing him hard, as though life depended upon it. Lefty
took it in stride and grabbed center-boy's ass with both hands,
grinding their crotches together.

"Hey!" Righty complained cheerily, "What
about me?"

Center-boy responded by letting go of Lefty's
shirt with his right hand and grabbing the back of Righty's head,
smashing their mouths together as though trying to devour the other
instead of kissing him. When he was done, Center-boy released them
both, retrieved his packages and looked as though nothing happened.
Righty was smoothing his orange tee and adjusting himself in his
skin-tight torn jeans.

Edgar watched them go admiring the swagger in
their walks and the way the jeans they wore complimented their
asses. He looked around quickly and discreetly adjusted himself
before continuing on his way. Other than a few hoots of
encouragement, the shopping crowd pretty much ignored the Plezzers'
actions; smart of them, Edgar thought.

One never knew when one might need to hire a
Plezzer and, regardless of their seemingly excessive lifestyles,
they had excellent memories when it came to being harassed. They
were as equally willing to explore the pleasures of mild, in other
words, legal revenge as they were to explore anything else. He'd
heard stories of plezzers hiring themselves out for sex and then
leaving their employers in embarrassing predicaments because said
employer had once harassed them. His favorite was the man who was
tied to the bed naked with sexual graphics painted over his body.
It wouldn't have been a problem, except that the man's parents were
due that evening. He'd let that news slip and the Plezzer in
question thought it would be the perfect revenge.

Edgar passed another shop, aptly named
Boutique, which carried retro clothing. He enjoyed shopping there
as the items were almost always things he wore the first time they
came out. The Armani suit currently hanging in his laundry center
with a coffee stain came from Boutique. He paused at the window,
checking out the latest offerings.

Bell bottoms and sailor shirts; neither my
time, nor my style. I love the fact that they sell at twen-cen
vintage clothing store prices; not that it matters, but it felt
good picking up that Armani suit for a hundred credits. The one I
had in the twenty-first cost me fifteen-hundred bucks. Granted,
these are reproductions, but they're so good, you can't tell the
difference. The beret with the sailor shirt is just over-the-top,
though! Ah, well, 'everything old is new again,' I guess.